


Sliding Doors (Trading Spaces Remix)

by R_Knight



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Knight/pseuds/R_Knight
Summary: Jon and Hanna trade places.





	Sliding Doors (Trading Spaces Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).
  * Inspired by [trading spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456653) by [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent). 

> To alotofthingsdifferent; I’m so happy to be able to remix this fic, it was such a wonderful premise to begin with, and I was so excited to play with it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks M for cheerleading as ever. The title is called Sliding Doors because I got confused and thought Trading Spaces was the Gwenyth Paltrow classic Sliding Doors. Not sure why.

When he wakes, the first thought Jon has is that he’s really, really hot. The second (and third and fourth) is that whoever is laying on top of him, half their body slung over Jon’s and pressing him into a mattress that he doesn’t recall getting into last night, is really, really heavy. Emily is _ definitely _ not this heavy. His half awake and mildly hungover brain circles the drain of that thought for a good few minutes, until whoever it is starts to stir and wake.

Jon thinks he should probably open his eyes and confront whoever it is, except Jon is pretty sure he knows _ exactly _ who it is, and the last thing he wants to do is confront the sleep-rumpled image of Tommy Vietor waking up in bed after... _Jesus_, what did they do last night that got them here? Jon opens his eyes a little just to confirm that, nope, neither Emily nor Hanna are here, asleep in bed with them or laughing and taking pictures for posterity. 

He almost immediately regrets opening his eyes though, because Tommy obviously notices and realizes Jon is awake. He shuffles around a little, stretches, rolls his hips in a slow grinding movement against Jon’s own and Jon... short circuits a little. 

Lets it happen. 

Stronger men than Jon would cave in the face of this: of Tommy, making a sound deep in his chest, a satisfied rumble that echoes between them and buzzes through Jon’s skin. Of the slow skim of his hand up Jon’s bare thigh, catching on his boxers and pressing tantalisingly against his dick before moving on, over his stomach, one of his nipples, coming to rest under his chin. Jon shivers. Squeezes his eyes closed again.

Tommy says, “_Sweetheart_,” sleep rough, and tilts Jon’s chin up with his finger. Jon, with his eyes still shut, startles when Tommy’s mouth presses against his own. He makes a little sound, of surprise and something else, and Tommy takes advantage of his parted lips and presses his tongue between them, inside Jon’s lax mouth, still caught up in surprise, but Tommy doesn’t seem to mind. He hums into the kiss, tilts Jon’s chin further back so that he can press closer, deeper. It’s lazy and sweet and Jon has always liked fooling around on the bare edges of wakefulness, when his body is pliant and relaxed and it feels good to let himself be used a little. Entirely there for Emily’s pleasure. For his _ wife’s pleasure. _ Jon slams his eyes open, jolting hard enough that he almost slams his forehead into Tommy’s nose. Tommy startles back a little himself, laughing.

“Woah, hey, you okay?” His hand is still under Jon’s chin, the feel of his skin on Jon’s a searing indictment of what they’d just done. What might have happened last night too, because now Jon is more awake, he’s noticing the satisfying ache of his body, of a night well spent. But then he also notices the picture frame that captures him and Tommy laughing with their arms around each other, Lucca draped across their laps. He notices the room he’s in, not his own but Tommy’s, in Tommy’s house. 

He notices the matching wedding bands, ones that he’s never seen before, discarded together on the bedside table. Jon takes a breath. Another. This is a dream. It must be. 

_Okay_, Jon thinks, _ why not_. 

He lets his head fall back against the pillow and says, “sorry, sorry. Fell asleep a little and jolted myself awake again.” Everything about this situation is so, so weird, and even as the source of that weirdness, Tommy’s presence is strangely comforting. Tommy smiles at him, fond in a way that makes Jon’s breath catch. He cups Jon’s face and leans in to press a single, lingering kiss to his mouth. Touches his thumb to Jon’s bottom lip and smiles, a little sly. 

“Well, you had a long night. I’m gonna go take Lucca for a walk, let you get some more sleep. God forbid Jon Favreau-Vietor not get his full eight hours,” he says. Jon can’t help the little noise he makes when Tommy says the name, and Tommy must catch it because he grins and leans in quickly for another kiss, then another. 

“I’ll leave my husband to his beauty sleep,” he adds, devastating, and then he slips out of Jon’s reach. 

*

Hanna is laying on her front when she wakes up. One arm under her pillow, the side of her face smushed into it. She must have slept pretty hard last night, must have drunk more than she thought to wake up late enough that she can’t feel Tommy’s presence in the bed next to her. Or on top of her, because he’s usually license to throw his body all over her when he sleeps drunk. She debates for a moment letting herself fall back asleep, but her thoughts are interrupted by the feel of someone settling on the bed behind her. By a hand taking advantage of the sheets that had slipped down in the night and slipping up her thigh, between her legs.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, spreading them a little, enjoying the way the hand drifts carefully, gently upward, pausing to grope her ass, making her huff a laugh, before moving on. A kiss to her lower back, and two hands now, pressing a little harder as they massage the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She groans and shifts and presses back against the delicate fingers. So soft. 

Strangely soft, now she thinks about it. And _ small_. Definitely smaller than Tommy’s. Hanna lifts her head enough that she can see behind her, but quickly drops it again when she sees that it’s _ Emily_. What the _hell_. Why is Emily Favreau feeling her up and what the hell did they drink last night that she’s missed something so fucking vital? She needs to tell Emily that she’s made a mistake or something, admit that she doesn’t remember what happened last night and - 

_ “_Oh - oh my _ god_,” she yelps, because one of the exploratory hands has slipped back down, two fingers sliding past the bare coverage her thong offers her and _ inside _her, stroking, making Hanna’s toes curl. 

Behind her, Emily laughs. Presses another kiss to her back, and then another. Lower. “Baby,” she says, and when Hanna shivers, again: “_baby_, you still with me? You awake?” She slides her fingers out of Hanna as she speaks, and they’re slick when she presses them to Hanna’s clit. One on either side, teasing rather than touching her directly, because she gets too sensitive. Hanna groans at the intimacy of it, of Emily knowing something like that about her. 

“I’m awake,” Hanna says into the pillow, not sure if she’s telling the truth. Squirming and gripping at the sheets, helpless against the feel of Emily’s fingers on her.

“I’m awake,” Hanna says, staring at the photo on the wall beside her, the two of them in matching white dresses. And then when Emily tugs off her thong and gets her mouth on her, finally, high pitched and breathless: “_ I’m awake.” _

*

Jon is shaky. Concerned a little that he’s lost his mind, concerned a lot that he’s thoroughly enjoying it. Filled with guilt, sure, but if he’s dreaming or just insane and imagining this, then what else could he do? What else could he do other than accept Tommy back into his - _ their _bed, let him kiss Jon breathless before pushing a mug of coffee into his hands and disappearing again because he’s flying out early for an interview. Leaving Jon with the memory of his fingers warm on his belly, his arms, his thighs. The sweet little kisses pressed to Jon’s face and the gentle way he had looked at him. So fucking fond.

And the more time passes, the more Jon realizes that this is most certainly not a dream. If it is, he’s in a coma or something, because it feels _ real_. It is real. Jon squirms with pleasure and guilt and curiosity and fear in equal measure. He thinks about calling Emily, has already checked and seen both her and Hanna’s contacts saved on his phone but not been quite brave enough to read any message threads, let alone call. What if she doesn’t remember? What if she _ does_?

But his dilemma is solved when his phone lights up with a call as he's looking at it. Not Emily, like he expected, or even Tommy, calling Jon to reiterate what he said earlier, before he left. Calling him sweetheart and telling Jon he loves him, _ I’ll see you soon_, _ wish I had more time to treat you good, but I guess you’ll have to wait. _

No, the name on his phone is _ Hanna_. Jon shivers, picks up the call.

“_Jon_,” Hanna starts. She sounds breathless. 

“Hanna?” 

“_Are you - is Tommy there? He wasn’t picking up his phone.” _

“He, uh-” Jon coughs, thinks about all the things Hanna’s husband said to him, _ did _to him this morning. “He’s gone. On a flight. Flight mode, I guess.” 

“_Right_, _ okay, Jon - did you, have you, um. Noticed anything-” _

Jon feels goosebumps prickle up his arms, the hair on his scalp. If Hanna knew, then that meant Jon wasn’t crazy. It also meant that this was real though, and that he had spent the morning in bed with her husband. 

“Um,” Jon says, struck dumb. At the other end of the phone, Hanna makes a sharp sound, and Jon winces. “I’m, god, I’m sorry Hanna - he just, I don’t know what-” 

“_Jon, _ ” Hanna interrupts, and Jon realizes that she isn’t upset. She’s _ laughing_. _ “Jon, oh my god. We’re somehow stuck in an alternate universe where we are married to each others spouses, and you think I’m mad at _ ** _you_**_?” _

Jon is struck both with relief and, embarrassingly, arousal; that Emily is safe, that she exists here and with Hanna, but also the idea of them both together is something he has somehow never thought about until now. And it’s distracting. 

“_Is that a bad silence?” _Hanna asks, but her voice is knowing. 

“No, no,” Jon says, shaking himself, “no, just thinking. Do you - want to come over?”

*

Jon works himself up into a nervous mess in the fifteen minutes it takes Hanna to get to Tommy’s - _their _ house. Presumably from his house, that’s now _ hers_. And Emily’s. Where they live together, happily married, just like he and Tommy are happily married in this universe. 

Hanna dispels his anxiety the second he opens the door to her though, tugging him into a tight hug and whispering _ thank god _ against his neck. Jon feels his shoulders loosen and a sigh of relief escapes him. It does feel good not to be alone in this. 

“So,” Hanna says after he’s invited her in and they’ve both settled on the sofa, clutching their respective dogs, both of them calmly enduring being smothered by their other-universe owners. They spend a while trying to figure out how or why this could have happened without getting anywhere, and then they decide to give up for a little while for the sake of their sanity and instead talk about the strange details of their alternate lives for a while.

It doesn’t take all that long for Hanna, obviously a braver person than Jon, to bring up the elephant in the room. 

“So, you absolutely fooled around with Tommy this morning,” She says out of the blue, and when Jon chokes and tries to stutter his way through a denial, Hanna laughs and kicks him in the thigh, jostling Leo from his perch on Jon’s lap. 

“I’ve known you for a long time now Jon, I know what you look like after good sex. Also that mark,” she says, leaning over to press her forefinger to the bite mark high up on his chest, obviously not as well concealed as he’d thought, “is in exactly the same place as the one Tommy gives me.” 

_ In our other lives _ goes unsaid. They both know that, and they’re both pretending that everything is fine and normal and not twilight-zone weird for now. 

“He’s-” Jon starts, swallows. “Is he always like that?” 

Hanna’s smile turns sly. “Like what, Jon?” 

Jon thinks about Tommy’s big hands on his body, the way he’d pressed Jon into the bed and didn't let up until he was trembling all over. Turns out a lot of what Tommy wants to do to him overlaps with what Jon likes to have done to him. Who’d have thought.

Jon shrugs, flushes. Thinks about avoiding Hanna’s gaze, but really most of everything he and Tommy had done together must be things that she and Tommy do, too. 

“Like… like Emily,” Jon says finally, watching the quirk of Hanna’s mouth and the way she’s starting to go a little pink, too. “Emily knows what she wants, you know? Tommy does too.”

Entirely different people, but the same in so many ways. And in this especially. There’s a reason Jon had been so - confused, sure, but also _ easy for it _ this morning. Mostly because it was Tommy, but a little because it was all so familiar. To be pushed and molded and bitten and made fun of in exactly the way he likes. The way he’s familiar with. 

“Emily has told me some things,” Hanna says, which isn’t a shock - Jon knows they talk, but it’s still a little humiliating to hear it confirmed out loud. To hear that Hanna likely knows all sorts of things about him he can barely voice himself. Unfortunately for Jon, it’s the exact kind of humiliation he enjoys. And Hanna probably knows that too. “But there’s a difference in knowing and _ knowing,_ Jon. Your wife is - holy shit.” 

“She really is,” Jon agrees, glad for the switch in focus. “What - did she-” 

The fading pink on Hanna’s cheeks darkens again, and she lets her head fall against the back of the sofa. “That woman knows how to go about an erotic massage, Jon. People should pay for those services,” she says.

Jon grunts. 

“And I was basically still _ asleep_. She just-"

“She does that,” Jon says, mouth dry. Emily loved him pliant and sleepy as much as he loved her to take advantage of that. The image of her and Emily - of her tugging down the sheets, running her hands over Hanna’s body the same way she did to him, there was an intimacy there that was strange to think about. Strange, and also hot. He couldn’t summon any feelings of jealousy or possessiveness if he tried, just curiosity. Arousal. Happiness, strangely, in this shared experience. 

Hanna tilts her head sideways after a moment, looking at him. Flushed and happy. They need to figure out how to get back to their own lives at some point, but for now that feels like a distant problem. Jon smiles back. 

*

They order in lunch, and because its a Sunday, Hanna also insists on making them mimosas. Jon makes a token protest, but he gives in pretty quickly, because he loves brunch and day drinking as much as she does, whatever he tries to insist otherwise. It doesn’t take much for them to become warm and giggly and start oversharing with each other. It doesn’t take much for her to spill the details of how Emily knew exactly where to touch her, exactly how hard to grip her thighs while she had her tongue inside her. It doesn’t take much for Jon to tell her how Tommy had used his whole body to press him into the mattress, and how the way he said _ sweetheart _had made Jon’s toes curl.

Things devolve from there. 

By the time Jon gets a text from Tommy, they’re sat on the sofa again, tangled up in a way they never would have in their other lives, not alone. The bare skin of their legs are pressed together and Jon’s arm is warm around her shoulders. She isn’t sure if its because of the alcohol or the strange situation they’ve been dropped in, but it feels nice, to be close to Jon like this. Almost anticipatory. Hanna isn’t sure what she’s anticipating. 

After finally managing to fish his phone out of the pockets of his shorts - arm still around Hanna’s shoulders - Jon opens the text thread. It only takes him a second to read the messages, and then he’s letting out a little shocked _ oh, a sound _that Hanna is going to savor for a long time. 

Then he turns the phone towards her, and she can’t think of anything else. He's sent three texts.

**Emily said you and Hanna are hanging out today**, isn’t damning in itself, but then there’s the following text: **have fun Jon, be good**. 

And then, finally, **remember we said we’d give the girls a show when I get back from DC babe, so save a little for me. **

When Hanna looks up from the texts, Jon’s eyes are wide and shocked. His pupils are blown, and it’s one of the hottest things Hanna has ever seen. Hanna does some quick calculations, thinks about the way Emily had kissed her and smiled and said _ have fun _ too, when she told her she was going to see Jon. Thinks about the framed picture of the four of them in their hallway - the same one sat on a shelf in Tommy and Jon’s place. Thinks about the warmth of Jon’s body against her and the way he looks at Tommy, not here, but back in their other lives. The way he looks at her, sometimes, too. Hanna had thought that was just Jon, though. Just Jon and his sweet, open face. 

But now she’s thinking she wasn’t paying enough attention. Not to Jon, and not to her husband, who goes pink and quiet at every most-normie-foursome-ever joke Lovett makes about them. So Hanna does the calculations. She thinks it through, and then she decides: _safe bet_. 

“Maybe we could wait,” Hanna says slowly, watching Jon’s face, “to figure things out. I wouldn’t - wouldn’t want to miss the show, Jon.”

Jon’s answering groan tastes sweet, and when Hanna tilts her head to kiss him, his mouth tastes sweeter still. Like vindication. 

*

He spends the days waiting for Tommy to get back slipping between guilt that he isn’t trying to fix whatever has happened to them, and buzzing with the anticipation of getting what Tommy had promised him. He hasn’t seen Hanna, or even Emily, and the waiting is getting to him. Lovett makes a comment at Crooked about how Jon’s separation anxiety is getting as bad as Lucca’s, and he’s too on edge to even argue. 

So Jon is twitchy and impatient by the time Tommy finally gets in from the airport. He knows they won’t be doing anything tonight - Tommy is tired from his flight, and Hanna and Emily are out for dinner with friends anyway, but still, it’s nice to get Tommy back. And to himself, for a little bit, especially now that he doesn’t feel like he’s going behind Hanna’s back. The thought of not telling Emily still twinges a little, but the longer he thinks about it the more he wonders if Emily - _ his _ Emily, back in their other life, might object to this less than he might have first thought. 

Jon lets Tommy kiss him, lets him hug him hello and take him to bed and tell Jon all the things he’s going to do to him in front of the girls, and he thinks: _ maybe_. Maybe things are great, but maybe they could be even better.

*

Hanna wakes up slowly. Someone presses a kiss to her mouth, the side of her neck, and Hanna stretches herself awake while she relishes in the heavy weight on top of her. Then her brain actually comes online and she blinks her eyes open. Stares at the top of Tommy’s head while he kisses his way down her chest.

“_Oh_,” she says, only a little because he’s got his mouth on one of her nipples, biting gently. The room they’re in isn’t the same one she’d fallen asleep in - this is her house, the one she shares with _ Tommy_, her husband. Not the Favreau’s house, where she’d fallen asleep in the huge bed when it had been the Favreau-Vietor's. Where she’d watched Tommy fuck Jon so hard he’d cried a little before blowing him. Where Emily had gotten her off with her fingers twice before either of those things had happened. 

No, this is hers and Tommy’s house, because she’s back home. She's relieved, but also a little sad. Hanna threads her fingers in Tommy’s hair and thinks. Thinks about all the things they’d done to each other last night, all the things they said. Thinks about how little had to change, really, for that to happen. Thinks about how right it felt. 

Hanna looks down at Tommy, watching her back curiously now, his chin resting on her stomach, and she thinks: _safe bet. _


End file.
